Unseen
by eggs on Thursday
Summary: Matt never realized just how much his relatives wanted him to die. After all, he'd only caught them poisoning his coffee twice. Maybe three times.
1. Chapter 1

The day I took control of New Facet, I couldn't help but feel just a little bored. Surrounded by almost all of my closest friends, alive and well, I should have been elated, but I wasn't.

Anybody who keeps up with the newspapers would attribute this to the sudden disappearance of my relatives. Suffering from trauma, the poor teen. Taking up the world's largest investigating firm must be stressful.

Actually, I think Mello rendered me apathetic to the celebration. It's true that I mourned for my father, but the wound of his death has been patched over pretty nicely. He'd be upset if I dwelled too long on his murder, anyway. And controlling the family business was much easier than surviving my assorted aunts and uncles and cousins.

Even my adventure ended up costing so many lives, I don't regret it, for the most part. Maybe I'm not as pure as Mello thinks.

That Tuesday, cars sent sprays of rain to designer jeans and coat-less pedestrians all along Main Street. I was fortunate enough to have brought an umbrella with me, but my suitcase wasn't doing as well. At the pedestrian crossing, I paused to shake off excess liquid, somewhat futilely. As I bent over a man passed by me. Through my peripheral vision, I saw his soaked sneakers send ripples through deposits of water.

Then I saw tires.

Without thinking, I sprang up and caught the man by the hood of his canary jacket. Water stained my striped shirt, once, as it flew off of his body, and twice, as the van barreled past and drenched us both.

"Oh my god!" he exclaimed.

"Are you alright?" I asked, shaking water out of my hair.

"Yeah, I'm alright...oh my god, you saved my life!" He seemed to be in shock.

When I looked directly at him, I was reminded of my father, only younger. He had the same cheerful expression, bearish build, and brown eyes.

I laughed. "And I saved that driver the trouble of having to go to prison for the rest of his life! We're all happy, I guess!"

"Man, it would have been ironic if I got offed by a car! How can I repay- oh, here, Ginger!"

He retrieved a tissue and a pen from his pocket and scrawled his number on it. "Keep this number. If you're in any trouble or anything, just call."

"I doubt I'll get into anything bad," I said, but pocketed the napkin anyway.

"You never know, Ginger. So, where you heading to?"

"Airport. Going on vacation to England."

He straightened and grinned. "So'm I! Only, not on vacation. Got some work to do."

"Oh, really? What do you do?"

His grin widened. "I'm a professional hitman," he proudly declared.

To my credit, I didn't gape. Instead, I said, relatively evenly, "Well. I'll keep your number safe, definitely."

He roared with laughter and slapped me on the back. "I like your style, Ginger."

"You can call me Matt."

"You can call me Deston, Ginger. I think Ginger fits you."

What were the odds that I'd save the life of an assassin? At the time, I didn't want to think about how many people I might have doomed by pulling Deston from the path of that vehicle.

Well, he turned out to be very proficient at his job, as my relatives soon learned.


	2. Chapter 2

It turned out that Deston just happened to be on the same plane that I was on, which was a great coincidence. He also happened to sit right behind me.

The pilot made his announcements and safety warnings over the intercom before instructing us to buckle our seatbelts. We all complied and the plane started up.

After a few minutes of frantic gum-chewing, the airplane reached its cruising altitude. Stewardesses outfitted in navy blouses and skirts offered apple juice and pretzels.

I watched as my new acquaintance purchased several servings of alcohol. So did the blonde lady with large sunglasses sitting beside me, and so did about every other person in that section of the plane.

"Want one?" he asked, proffering a small vial through the gap between the seats. I declined.

The pilot deemed it safe to turn on electronics, so I pulled out my laptop and set it on my knees.

I numbed my mind with Tetris to the tune of Deston's chattering. The rest of the flight was uneventful, until he poked me in the shoulder.

"Ow," I said dully, half-asleep. The passengers all around us were slumped in their seats and snoring.

"Ginger, listen. This is important."

"Mm."

"You know how I said I was a hitman?"

"You were joking?"

"Heck, no. Actually, I was supposed to off you."

My heart didn't stop, and my blood didn't freeze in my veins. I looked him in the eye and said, "The New Facet executives hired you, didn't they?"

Astonishment tinted his voice as he whispered, "You know?"

I smiled bitterly. "They've been poisoning my energy drinks since I was old enough to drink them, and they probably coated my teething rings with arsenic before that."

He whistled quietly. "Why?"

"Oh, New Facet's the family business my dad started. Everybody, except for my dad, of course, is trying to get me so they can inherit. They already killed my mother. "

"Your dad doesn't do anything?"

"He hasn't figured anything out, and it'll stay that way. Trust me, he was a mess when my mom died, but he's a good father. He got over it so he could take care of me. I was maybe two at the time."

"Why would you protect your relatives like that?"

I shrugged and deadpanned, "They're family. Who could I care for but my family?"

"Ooh...er...funny thing about that, Ginger. They're dead."

I turned my head sharply. "All of them? Even my dad?"

He winced and answered, "I think so."

Both of us twitched as a flight attendant dashed past with a carafe of coffee and a plastic-wrapped pillow.

In a lower voice, I murmured, "How do you know?"

Deston fidgeted slightly before muttering, "See, your kinfolk hired me, right? Then I got a message on my cell, sayin' I'd be clogging New York's gutters if I even _considered_ doin' the job. The voice was messed up electronically, so I couldn't really judge what kind've person it was, but it was damn creepy, I'll tell you. Anyway, so I was thinkin' really hard about what I should do, 'cause, you know, your folks woulda shot me if I turned 'em down, when on the street, I get another call. All the guy said that time was, 'The executives are dead.' Then he hung up. Then I almost got run over at the intersection and you and I met and all that."

"He? I thought you said you couldn't tell because the voice was distorted... and my father didn't hire you, so why would he be dead?"

"Well, I say 'he' because I sure hope there aren't any ladies that freaky, plus it seemed like he- the caller, I mean, actually went there and sniped 'em all. He seemed pretty delighted about it. And... about your dad. I think he tried to stop the caller, so he got shot or whatever."

"But how do you know that he did? Maybe he wasn't there at the time! Maybe he just-"

"Want to see the pictures? I think they're still on my phone."

"A-are you sure? Absolutely certain? Do you know his face-"

"Ginger, your daddy is the head of New Facet. I bet you couldn't find a broke man begging in an alleyway that didn't know his face. Vodka?"

This time, I accepted.

Apparently, my vacation wasn't necessary any more.


	3. Chapter 3

When the plane landed, I was jostled awake from my uneasy slumber by the woman sitting next to me. She had reached into the compartment above us to retrieve her luggage.

"Here, let me help," I mumbled, shaking away the remnants of rest. Her bag was fairly light, so I got it out without any trouble.

"Thank you," she whispered, so softly that I could barely discern it. With her index finger she pushed the rim of her sunglasses up.

At the time, I had thought it exceedingly strange that she was wearing shades at night, but I didn't dwell on it. She could be blind, or something.

We spilled out of the plane and into the airport, where Deston turned to leave.

"You take care've yourself, Ginger! Don't forget to call!" he yelled, before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

I planned to stay a day and night at a hotel before turning back to the U.S. As much as I detested flying, New Facet would probably be in turmoil and I'd have to fix it all and deal with legal issues. But I needed to sleep, actually sleep.

I walked aimlessly down the unfamiliar roads until a hotel that seemed decent came into my sight. The receptionist was kind when she saw how bedraggled and pathetic I must have looked, and helped me a lot more than she should have had to. In any case, I was in my room in minutes, in the shower seconds, and promptly collapsed on the hotel's foreign sheets before I was aware that I had crossed the distance from the bathroom to the mattress.

It was dark when I awoke, so I shoved my head back against the pillow. Then, I realized I had closed the curtains, and it was three in the afternoon.

With a bit of rest, my brain finally began to function.

I had a moment when I realized that I was probably the primary suspect for the murders. Somewhat belatedly, my mind started to work.

It probably looked incredibly suspicious that I had departed for merry old England minutes after all of my family was killed. And I did have a motive, inheriting the nice sum my father had in the bank.

But I was absolutely innocent, and there would be nothing there to indicate that I had been the murderer. Exhaling shakily, I leaned back against the headboard and picked up my cell phone from the small table beside it.

I had a message from Mikami, one of our top lawyers that I knew better than the rest, since he was closer to my age and therefore more approachable. I pressed my thumb down.

_Matt! What have you done? You need to get back here, now! Why would you-_

I didn't read the rest; I felt it. I flipped my phone shut and stared at it for a minute, before pulling out my laptop to book a flight back.

I stared at my phone a little longer, wishing that Teru was the kind of person who joked and that he would text back an apology if I waited long enough.

The device in my palm didn't seem inclined to chirp out my ringtone, so I jammed it in my pocket and went to the front desk to pay.


	4. Chapter 4

Mel pulls the Takada maneuver on Matt. Hehe.

* * *

After leaving the hotel, I nearly tripped over a man cross-legged on the floor.

Cursing my clumsiness, I turned around to apologize and instantly felt horrible. I'd stumbled over a poor beggar dressed in all black and knocked over his small tin of coins, which he was now silently bent over.

"Oh, I'm really sorry," I babbled, sinking down to help him. Behind his shaggy curtain of gold hair, I couldn't tell if I'd been forgiven or if he was about to deck me across the face. Finally I realized that it would be infinitely more helpful for me to give him some money, so I dug into my back pocket for my wallet. As soon as I found it and had it open, he deftly snatched it out of my hands and stood up.

"H-hey!" I made a lunge for it, but he sidestepped me easily, grinning. A flash of amusement shown in his blue eyes as I made another lame attempt to get it back. I considered just letting him keep it, as he probably needed it a lot more than I did, but recalled that I had valuable photographs in there.

"Please, you can keep the money, just let me have the pictures!" I begged. For some inexplicable reason, triumph brightened his expression and he sprinted away.

"Wha- get back here, you thief!"

I probably looked incredibly stupid as I tried to keep up with a luggage bag in tow. Quite frequently, I rolled over toes and had to turn around to hastily apologize.

My eyes scanned the crowd for the blond scoundrel, but he had disappeared. Defeated, I sighed and turned around, hoping I wouldn't be late for my flight.

A low whistle sounded from an alleyway, so I peered in, curious. There he was, waving my wallet like a kid would shake a chew toy in front of a dog. I narrowed my eyes and stepped briskly toward him, slightly flushed with anger. Carefully, I edged closer, until we were about a foot away from each other. I held my hand out, sternly, and he dropped the Triforce emblazoned object in my palm, still smiling. I started to retract my arm, but he swung _his_ arm up and cuffed mine to his.

I was slightly in shock, and it didn't help when he gave a cheerful tug and said, "C'mon, Matt. No more games. We have to get going."

The absolute stranger then procured a motorcycle from the shadows and got on, dragging me with him.

"Wha- why would I follow you? I have no idea who you are! And how do you know who I am?!"

He shrugged. "You'll get the death sentence if you're caught and convicted, which you definitely will if you go back to New York. I think you should come with me."

I was at a loss, so he sighed and reassured, "Your father hired me some time back, that's how I know you. Please trust me."

I scowled and muttered, "If I should trust you, why am I _handcuffed_ to you?"

He coughed and mumbled, "That's something I'll answer later. Let's leave now."

"Well, um, what about my stuff? And I don't even know what your name is."

Patiently, he replied, "I have necessities for you. You programmed your laptop so it will destroy itself when your enemies get hold of it. Your phone is in your pocket. My name is Mello. Ready to go?"

Shakily, I climbed on and squeezed the sides of the machine with my calves. "I think so."

"Hold on to me," he advised, so I wrapped my arms around his waist awkwardly so a length of chain remained for him to move his wrists to steer. The engine growled reassuringly, with the strength of a lioness defending her cubs. I would be alright.

Mello swerved violently to pass the cars in front of us.


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry if you got an alert for chapter one. I had to fix a grammatical error...

HAPPY NEW YEAR'S!!! DON'T SMOKE OR TOAST MARSHMALLOWS NEAR YOUR FIREWORKS!

* * *

My attempts at conversation fell flat when the wind blew my words backwards to tumble onto the asphalt and shrivel up, unheard. So I just held on for dear life and made a mental note to send our best investigators to wherever the hell Mello had gotten his license.

At about that time, I was starting to realize how absolutely dumb I was. But as soon as he said the magic words, _your father_, I trusted him. Jesus, even if he actually _was_ hired by Dad, how could I trust him to help me? Too stubborn to acknowledge my naivety, I decided that I was a cornered rabbit anyway and the most Mello could do was kill me, which would happen to me even if I somehow escaped the handcuffs and ventured back to the headquarters of New Facet.

The silvery skyscraper is the most prominent memory I have and ever will have. The second is decidedly more unpleasant, but somehow disassociated with the way the building's glass would reflect liquid clouds. The first time I saw it, I was eight. My father lifted me onto his massive shoulders and told me, "When you are wiser, Mail, you'll own this business and save humans. I know you'll make a good leader."

Of course, the thought that I could control this network and even rescue people was awe-inspiring, and I traveled with Dad to his office every time that I could, even if it was for one of those god-awful conferences. I was my father's hope, since Portia couldn't be, though she tried. When I wasn't there or being taught by my tutor I was with her, in her room, talking.

If Portia had been a dash less heroic, or unlucky, or had chosen the bedroom across the hallway, she would be CEO now, and her pretty steel eyes wouldn't have been purchased. The day my mother was murdered- in broad daylight, no less- my older sister had been stretched out across the checkered sofa in front of her bed, the one she says Mom thought was tacky. With a book in one hand and the other tucked behind her head, she was angled just so the faint sound of our mother's scream slid out from under the door, slimy and awful.

She said she heard her die, not scream. That's impossible. If she had heard her life whistle away, why hadn't I? Why didn't I sense her soul fleeing and wail in my crib, so Portia would have dismissed the sound as daydreaming and gone to check on me instead?

Later, the ocularist produced a pair of false eyes. They fit, but they didn't. And my brilliant sister was blinded to the world and mutilated by a splash of acid thrown by a killer who probably got paid extra for incapacitating an extra potential inheritor.

Just my father and I were left.

Dad was a hearty man who laughed a lot and loved a lot. The only time he's refrained from joy was after the incident. I was very young when my mother died, so I never quite got to know her. Knowing him, though, Ann Jeevas had to have been either an angel or a witch. Portia and I turned out alright, so I think she was an angel.

Our relatives were all 'wicked witches', as my sister likes to say. From the day I met them all as an upstanding gentleman of eight, I couldn't help but agree with her. Broad shoulders and ramrod spines seem to be the mark of a Jeevas that must have been canceled out by my mother's fairer genes when it comes to us. Or maybe I just don't eat enough.

So, the Neanderthal-like masses of our uncles and aunts were called upon to serve in my father's business- the world's largest private investigation firm.

I was ready to reminisce about the way my relatives eyed me like a well-done steak behind my father's back, but Mello abruptly killed the engine and nudged me off.

The sight that greeted me could at best have been described as 'shoddy'. What I assumed had to be some sort of dilapidated motel would have architects slamming their heads against walls.

Hopefully not the walls of this travesty, as it would probably collapse.

I turned to Mello.

"You're staying here for the night," he affirmed, flicking a piece of dust off of his leather glove.

"...a-are you going to take off the handcuffs, at least?"

"If you promise not to bolt."

"I'd like to know why I would-"

"Hurry up, Matt."


	6. Chapter 6

Ugh. Winter break is almost over, so I might do double updates to make up for the lack of them later when school starts again.

* * *

As he promised, Mello removed the cuffs and checked us in.

As expected, the place was a far cry from the respectable establishment I had stayed in earlier. The wallpaper was peeling; the patrons were sallow-faced and beady-eyed, reminding me far too much of my dead aunts and uncles.

"Here." He escorted me into the room and shut the door. I tensed, waiting to see if he would stab me.

The maid probably wouldn't even be surprised to see my lifeless corpse among broken beer bottles in the dumpster when she took out the trash.

Instead, he reached into the fridge and pulled out a Coke.

"Drink this. You're jittery."

I frowned and pushed it away, though it probably wasn't poisoned.

He popped it open and handed it to me, more forcefully.

"Come on, Matt. You know caffeine helps you to think."

Finally, I snapped, "Are you some sort of stalker? How do you know who I am? How do you know all this stuff about me?"

He smiled and placed the soda on the table beside the bed. "I guess I am, although I prefer to think of myself as more of a bodyguard."

He sat beside me at the foot of the mattress and continued, "You're probably curious, aren't you? Well, when your mother died and your sister was... mutilated, your father hired my father to protect you. It was very convenient for my dad, since he'd left the Mafia and couldn't do much but shoot or work at McDonald's. Eventually, the mob came back to shut his mouth for good. I volunteered for the job."

"How old are you, Mello?"

"A few months older than you."

"Then... how long have you been... watching over me?"

"Hm. Three and a half years, more or less."

"I'm only twenty, like you didn't know, so how could a sixteen-year-old...?"

He shrugged. "I managed okay. Mostly, your relatives tried to kill you discreetly, through your food, so I didn't have to do much. My father taught me a lot of stuff he learned during the fifteen years he watched over you, and I had my fair share of good teachers."

"I-I'm sorry I treated you like crap. But I have to be careful, as you probably know."

He sucked in a breath, than blew it out so his bangs flew up. "That's my fault. You never would have had to know if I hadn't fallen asleep that minute."

He was referring to the first time I had caught something in my drink. Back then, I still drank out of open glasses.

It was a curious incident that I won't be forgetting very easily. I'd poured myself a glass of water when Auntie Edna's rat terrier started to yap. That thing drove me mad during the summer, when its owner came and left it with me while she chatted with Dad. So, I did what any sensible boy of sixteen would have done- I upended the glass on its annoying prizewinning head.

Well, Snookums died, convulsing and twitching, muscles drawn and eyes blank. It scared the hell out of me, to say the least.

Later, after some late-night research, I concluded that strychnine had been put into my drink. From then on, I refused to swallow anything that wasn't sealed in a can.

Mello looked genuinely distressed, so I remarked, "I wouldn't be alive if you weren't a great guardian, so don't feel bad for letting me realize that there were people after my throat."

"Right," he mumbled. Apparently, I had spoiled his mood. "Go to sleep. We have to recruit some help tomorrow, and it won't be easy."

I acquiesced and buried my head in the pillow.

-

When I stirred, half-awake, I sensed a violent movement from the corner of the room. Immediately, I straightened.

It was only Mello, with the most murderous expression I've ever seen on any being.

He exhaled and relaxed. "Haha... sorry if I scared you. Usually you're a heavy sleeper and don't move, so I thought somebody might have come in... I'm a light sleeper by habit."

I blinked in response. At that time, I hadn't yet gotten used to how he knew more about me than I did.

I decided not to ask if he had spent the night leaning against the wall."'S fine. Want to go 'recruit some help' now?"

"Eat something first," he insisted. "I didn't get the only room with a fridge for you to stare at it."

I removed a muffin and a Monster. After glancing at Mello, I removed a carton of milk and another muffin.

"Hey. You too." I tossed it to him.

It was really fascinating to see him catch. Naturally, I was and still am a terrible thrower, so he was forced to spring to the side. It was like he plucked them out of the air with his inhuman agility.

He studied his breakfast and asked, "How did you know I love chocolate?"

"Huh. Lucky guess."

He smiled, although I think it was more to himself.

"Can I ask you a question, Mel?"

"Shoot."

"Why are you still working for D- my father?"

"Mm... he paid me in advance. I'm not the type to take free cash and run."

"Oh."

I aimed for the trashcan and missed. Mello let his arc cleanly into the middle, just to make a point. He grinned and said, "Time to go. Leave it for the maid to clean up."

We exited, boarded Air Mello, and frightened plenty of pedestrians. His driving skills were still terrifyingly bad, but somehow, deep in some dark corner of my mind, I felt safer.

Which, then, I had found utterly ridiculous and just a tad embarrassing. I really should have known to trust my instincts, but maybe that's a lesson only time can teach.


	7. Chapter 7

I may or may not have forgotten to post this yesterday. Whoops.

* * *

Mello couldn't have surprised me more if he'd parked in front of a police station and promptly handcuffed me.

"You must be mistaken," I stated, trotting to keep up with him.

"I'm not. I told you, I've had plenty of remarkable teachers."

"I don't think _L_ can be labeled as a- actually, I don't think L _can_ be labeled."

"Yes, organization seems to repel his very existence."

"Well- I mean- _L_? How?"

He looked distinctly annoyed and muttered, "You can ask him why. I don't have a damn clue why he took me in."

"We're going to meet him?"

"Yes, dumbass." He swung open the door and took a left turn.

"For help? You're recruiting L?"

"Goddammit, did I not just say that?!"

"Uh... not that I object to this, I'm actually thrilled, but why would he give a crap about me?"

"Because I do, and I'm one of maybe three people he's spoken to in person. You get to be lucky fourth."

I admired a very efficient scanner that Mello pressed his hand against. It chimed happily and allowed us safe passage.

So I thought.


	8. Chapter 8

We stepped through a twisting series of corridors and incomprehensible hallways. The walls were an eerie, shadowy violet and appeared to be closing in on us, ever so slowly. The slightest sounds we made were magnified so greatly that we could hear each other breathing.

"Mm... I think this is the door. Get behind me, just in case. And don't move from where you are," Mello whispered. Cautiously, he leaned against the wall and grasped the handle. With a sudden tug that set my heart pounding, he flung it open, so we were safely behind it.

Wild gunfire greeted the empty air at the entrance. The bullets had barely embedded themselves into a wall when Mello sank to the floor. Horror gripped me, but I stayed still, more because I was in cold shock than because he had instructed me to. Bullets always petrified me, for some reason. But, god, was Mello hit? I watched for some sign of life, but none could be found.

Still behind the door, barely daring to breathe, I watched through the gap between the hinge and the door as a greasy-haired man awkwardly armed with a machine gun came out to investigate his -dead?- body.

Swiftly, Mello brought the gun up and neatly knocked him out.

Mello entered the room and I felt tenser than ever. If he didn't return, what would I do?

Of course, he came back, with a grim expression on his face. Relief slowed the tempo of my heartbeat.

"I don't think L will be helping us," he said.

"I-is he dead?"

"No, but he's not here. His office is a mess, more than usual. Something happened, but I... well, he's gone. He could have been kidnapped, but that doesn't strike me as something the great L would allow."

"He might have left. Who is-" I gestured to the unconscious man with the toe of my left combat boot, "-that?"

He glanced at the poor assassin with ill-hidden disgust. "Some scum whoever made L leave hired, I guess." He crouched and gingerly forced the gunner's sleeve up. "A druggie, looks like."

Needle tracks ran along his arm. Mello let the limb drop back to the carpet.

"Now," he mused, "could this be a coincidence? The top executives of the biggest private investigation firm in the US are murdered, except for you, since you happened to be heading to England. Which, by the way, I was about to tell your dad about that. Sneaking out of the big meeting?"

"Uh... well, it turned out for the best, right? Wait- so you were on the plane with me?"

He looked amused. "Yes. Of course."

"I didn't see anybody on there that looked like you- oh, wait a minute..."

The master of disguise brandished a huge, very familiar pair of sunglasses before tucking them back in his coat pocket. "I'm not above transvestism," he assured, and I had to fight a snort.

"In addition to the largest private investigation company being robbed of most of its leaders, we have the greatest detective in the world missing. Maybe it's a coincidence, or maybe not. We'll see."

"Where now?"

He shrugged. "I guess you can come live with me until we can figure out what the hell went wrong here."


	9. Chapter 9

I actually have some shreds of plot planned out. Go me.

* * *

"What would we do at your house?" I asked, exasperated.

He seemed to freeze for a moment before coughing and answering, "Well, where else can we go? You can't go back to your home, or the cops will get you."

"Why exactly would the cops arrest me? It does seem pretty suspicious, but I haven't done anything."

Gravely, he reported, "There's more than enough evidence in there for them to convict you for murdering your family. You have a reason, supposedly you were at the meeting there, not to mention all the shit they found there."

"What do you mean?"

"One of your uncles has your name smeared in blood above him, and his right hand is dripping with the stuff. There were some boot impressions as well, your size and make, as well as some others, who the police think were the hitmen you hired. A pair of your shoes were discovered in a dumpster shredded and mutilated, but still reddish." He paused. "And it was confirmed that the blood was your dad's."

I must have betrayed a hint of my horror and nausea, because Mello immediately gripped my arm to support me.

"You're okay," he reassured gently.

"Jesus Christ," I moaned, blinking rapidly to erase the gory scene I hadn't allowed myself to think of until then. "I- my dad-"

Firmly, he dragged me out of the dead building, mumbling under his breath. He probably regretted telling me, but I would have found out sooner or later.

"Matty, can you walk? Will you be alright in a car?"

I nodded weakly, ashamed as he waved a cab over.

"You know, Mr. Jeev- your father, I mean- would be much happier if you accepted it and continued your life," he asserted, glancing at me worriedly.

"Yeah... I know..."

I had one hell of an epiphany then.

"_Christ_, someone really wants to get me," I realized aloud.

"No shit," he muttered, walking to the opposite side of the car to talk to the driver. He watched me get in and added, "By the way, you're riding the taxi. I have to take in my bike."

"Sure. You'll be right behind me, I assume?"

He let his lips curve into a faint smile and saluted me languidly with one gloved hand, shutting the door with the other.

"If you chuck in here, like your friend said you might, you got to pay extra," said a familiar voice.

"Deston?!" I exclaimed. Even as I said his name, he turned around and grinned at me.

"Ginger!" he said amiably.

"You're a taxi-driver? And a hitman? Is this a coincidence?"

"Well, I have to keep two jobs these days to pay the bills, and yeah, I didn't know who you were till yer buddy said. Feelin' okay?"

"Not really. The police are after me, on top of a bunch of other stuff."

He nodded, probably familiar with law enforcement agents. "If it's for your daddy's death, I know you didn't kill 'em or anything. You're too polite to be doing that kind of stuff. I think it was that creep that called me who killed 'em."

"You don't understand. I've been framed quite thoroughly by somebody else, and I don't know who- wait, the creep who called you?"

"Yeah, remember how I told you on the plane? I think he mighta been the one..."

_Mello?_


	10. Chapter 10

WHHHOOOO!!!! Passed 1000 hits... sometime close to now. BREAK OUT THE FERMENTED GRAPE JUICE, PEOPLE OF THE LEGAL DRINKING AGE!

And keep it awaaaay from Mello, for Christ's sake.

So thanks to Dlvvanzor, ShinigamiMailJeevas, Nikkiacatmeki, AngieXRosieX, Misha2011, mbm, and LoliPear for reviewing. And then AngieXRosieX, Clumsylittlegirl, DarknessLightsTheWorld, Rose- The DaughterOfHades, and Unheard Soliloquy for fave-ing. And then AmazinglyAddictedToAnime, AngieXRosieX, Ayalli, CloakedSchemer06, Dlvvanzor, Geek. Ella(Sorry about the space, but it won't show up otherwise), Invader Oceana, Mooncry, Nikkiacatmeki, and Shinra'sCrazyTurk for putting this on alert.

* * *

Deston dropped me off at the airport and bade me farewell.

"Still got my number?" he asked.

"Yep."

"You know, I never got yours. I think I'll do some investigatin' of my own and tell you what I learn."

It sounded good, so I let him add my number to his cell. Then I glanced at the clock and swore.

"Crap, gotta go."

"Seeya, Ginger!" he called cheerfully.

The second time in three days I had to run like an idiot. At least I didn't have any luggage this time.

Which, come to think of it, would be exceedingly suspicious at the airport. I slowed.

"Hey, carry your bag. It's heavy." A duffel was shoved in my face.

"Ow! Who- oh, thanks. Where were you?"

Mello shrugged and said airily, "Errands. Returning the bike."

"Right." I shouldered my bag. "What if Deston had kidnapped me or something?"

He snorted. "He wouldn't, but if he did, I'd kick his ass. Feeling better?"

"Yeah..."

Actually, I felt uneasy. If Mello had killed my family, what would I do? Could I just stay with him? Did this mean he framed me? And why the hell _would_ he murder everyone?!

"Matt. What are you thinking about?"

I jumped. Mello's eyes narrowed further.

"N-nothing," I lied.

"You're fidgeting with your shirt sleeve, your eyes are cast down, and your left hand's fingernails are digging into your palm." When I looked at him in astonishment, his gaze softened and he ruffled my hair. "I've watched you for more than three years. I think I know you better than I know myself."

"Uhm. Maybe the airport isn't the best place to discuss this," I said lamely, shaking my hair back into place.

"Alright," he finally said. I was afraid he was angry, but soon realized he was sad.

That was infinitely worse, somehow.

Lord, I was stuck. If Deston was right, Mello was probably the caller. It would make sense for the first call, as he _was_ supposed to protect me, but the second... Maybe my relatives' deaths made a little sense, but why would he kill his employer but still protect me? And why would he frame me and still protect me?

I let out an audible groan of confusion by accident and Mello turned his head sharply.

After assuring himself that I hadn't been stabbed, shot, or injured in any way, he commenced staring blankly out of the elegant, rectangular windows that lined the walls.

Which drove me mad with guilt. What had I done, anyway?!

The rest of the journey was uneventful, exhausting, and halfway through I realized I had no idea where we were going.

Oh well. I trusted Mello.

Third jolt of the day. It seems I had plenty of sudden realizations during that time period of my life.

I decided to fall asleep instead of ask myself why the hell I trusted a guy I'd known for two days. That was much easier.

-

I awoke and quickly regretted it. The side effects of not eating were beginning to kick in, and it looked like I'd just missed the stewardess's packaged dinners.

"Here. Saved it for you."

"Ah, thanks. Oh..."

I stared at the sandwich. It was completely unsealed, save a flimsy layer of cling wrap that could easily be removed and replaced.

Then I flicked my eyes to Mel. Would he be offended if I didn't eat it? Would he force me to eat it? Maybe I could wait until he was asleep to throw it away...

His bright blue eyes, unblinking, betrayed nothing. I wondered vaguely if they were reflected in my own.

"Don't worry," he said softly. "I tested it for poison about half an hour ago. Still alive."

"Uhh... I don't... really like...turkey..."

He frowned and deduced bitterly, "You don't trust me anymore."

There was a quiet in the cabin unbroken by our low conversation. I now sorely wished I had stayed asleep.

"Uh, w-why would you say that?" I stuttered, unable to meet his gaze.

"You don't."

"Well, I've only known you for two days, so I think I'm doing fairly well!"

"You did trust me. Before the taxi. I felt it. So what did your friend say to you?"

"Well, we're on a plane with a bunch of other people, so..."

He fixed me with an unnerving glare. "You seemed to be just fine talking to _Deston_ before."

We were both silent for a moment as I inwardly cursed his stubbornness and my stupidity.

"Damn you," I finally muttered. "Did you murder them?"

He smiled.


	11. Chapter 11

"What's your reasoning behind that?" he questioned, still smiling.

Unconsciously, I must have begun to edge away from him. Still keeping eye contact with me, Mello gripped my wrist, freezing me instantaneously. My wide eyes followed his thumb as it slid against a blue vein, applying the slightest pressure with his fingernail. Briefly I wondered if it was something vital.

"W-well, Deston told me about some phone calls he received, and he thinks the caller was the killer," I babbled, trying to slow down my heart rate, "and I felt it was you. I-intuition, I guess. After that nothing fit-"

"Do you want me to be the killer? You would have me now. You could have your revenge."

"No," I immediately answered. Then I jerked my arm up, fully intending to smack myself on the forehead before remembering Mello had it in a stranglehold.

He released me. "I was going to. I dreamed about it, getting rid of them."

My breath caught, but he continued, "I didn't. I was beat to the prize."

"Why would you?"

"The idiots were the reason you're constantly worried, won't eat anything unpackaged, can't enjoy life. And you're too kind to retaliate."

"You'd be out of a job if they were dead."

He blinked, and for once I'd rendered him speechless. But soon, he retorted, "I have plenty of cash."

"Then why are you here, risking imprisonment for helping a murderer?"

"I-" He swallowed. "Like I said, your father paid me in advance. And you're innocent. I have a sense of justice."

Something was missing. Even today, looking back, I have yet to figure it out, as I certainly can't ask him now. As I opened my mouth to interrogate him, a yawn escaped me. So I filed the question away for a later that would never come and instead sleepily mumbled, "You didn't kill them?"

"No," he confirmed.

I blinked sluggishly and said, "Ahh... by the way, where are we going?"

"Germany."

"Germany?"

"I can't take you to my apartment in New York. They're definitely looking for you there."

I yawned again, much to my chagrin.

"You're tired. Sleep tight."

Aiming to be humorous, I slurred drowsily, "No bedbugs, right? You'd shoot them before they got anywhere near us."

"Yeah. I would."

-

We landed shortly afterward.

"I hardly know any German," I muttered, handing a bag to Mel.

"Well, I do. And you probably won't have to talk to anybody anyway. My house is in a forest."

"Seriously? That's awesome."

The airport was fairly uncrowded and looked very much like the one we had departed from. In an easy silence we strode toward the exit.

"HOLY- Mel, it's freezing!"

He gave me a look and suggested, "Try the bag of stuff I purchased for you."

"Oh. Huh."

He leaned against the wall as I riffled through the clothing he had given me. It was really nice stuff, the type of apparel my dad usually wanted me to wear.

I usually ended up at the checkout in Wal-Mart with the first striped shirt I could find. It was just a shame the place didn't sell suits.

I tugged on a coat and pulled out my wallet. "Um, how much?" I asked.

"What?"

"You know, for the clothes. I really have no idea how much you spent, other than that it was a lot."

"Keep your cash. You're going to need it."

"But, ah..."

Mel smiled. "I'm not poor, really. If someone had to guess, they'd say you were the one who lived in a cardboard box, Mr. Convenience Store Clothing."

I pocketed my wallet and stood up. "Yeah, whatever. How are we going to get to your log cabin in the wilderness?"

"We'll take a cab part of the way, then we'll walk the rest."

"Walk? In this weather?"

"Yep. You'll love it."

-

I hadn't _loved_ it, as a matter of fact, but I did have to admit that it would have been a very nice walk in better weather.

We had to leave the warmth and safety of the taxi when the road became too narrow and rocky for the car. The wind rustled the tops of the evergreens and roused awake the sleeping birds hiding within. Set to a background of snow-peaked mountains, it was a rare sight. Especially for a New-Yorker.

"Okay, I think I'm developing frostbite, but that really doesn't matter. This place is amazing!"

Mello said nothing, just smiled.

The path grew thinner and thinner until we were forced to dodge pines and spruces shooting from the dirt. Twice I nearly tripped over the vicious rocks lodged in the ground, and twice Mel caught me.

Finally we came into a huge clearing, where felled trees gathered near the edges. I spotted a small cabin.

"It's seriously a log cabin?!"

He laughed. "No, that's just for storage. Look over there. That's the house."

It was painted quaint creamy white with wooden stripes lining the windows and a brown tiled roof to top it off. I felt the overwhelming urge to take millions of pictures.

"I feel like such a tourist," I mumbled.

Mello had already gone ahead and opened the door. I hurried forward, eager to see the inside.

There was the sound of splintering wood, a few gunshots, and a scream. I came to a stop ten feet from the doorway.

The owner of the picturesque cottage burst from the entrance, then slammed the door. A muffled moan of pain sounded from behind.

"Run," he panted, "for your life. Now. Follow me."

I obliged him, ignoring the sound of twigs being trampled underfoot behind us.


	12. Chapter 12

We sprinted blindly through the blurring foliage until at last Mello turned around abruptly.

I crashed into him.

We tumbled to the ground, Mello holding one hand over my mouth so my shout was muffled. He rolled over and beckoned me forward with a flick of his wrist.

"Try to be quiet," he hissed, before crawling on his hands and knees under a leafy bush.

I sighed(quietly) and followed.

The soil seemed to be getting moister and softer the farther we traveled, and the trees and ferns gradually began to disappear. Finally, he stopped.

At the mouth of a cave.

"I'm really praying this is the secret meeting place of an elite crime-fighting organization that'll fix this wonderful mess I've been mixed into."

"Don't hold your breath, Matt."

The cave proved to be bigger than my old room, and probably a wing in our house. To this day I haven't explored the entirety of it. There were plenty of supplies in the very back and more than enough space for two people.

Unfortunately, it was only two-and-a-half feet tall.

We had to crawl through on our stomachs for fifteen minutes before arriving at what appeared to be the end. But my more knowledgeable guide leaned up and pushed the ceiling, which promptly opened up after thirteen vicious shoves and some gratuitous swearing.

"Sorry. I haven't been here for a while, so it's probably stuck- GODDAMMIT, OPEN!"

We ascended into another passageway, which was sadly as short as the one below. This one was lined with all sorts of goods, however, which I was thankful for, and it stretched on and on until the weak lights embedded above could no longer fill the darkness.

He covered the entrance, then went to work.

Mello was skillfully sliding back and forth between niches of dried food and blankets while I was supine in the floor, having learned that jerking up in surprise was a grave error.

"So, are we fugitives or something? What was that back there?"

"They were like that druggie from before. They didn't seem too bright, and they were armed."

"Hm. Could this be some sort of organization?"

"...yeah. I think we need to find L. He probably knows something. Here, catch."

"Thanks. The floor is kinda cold and hard."

"Sorry... I think there's more blankets here; let me go see if I can find some others."

I carefully smoothed the quilts over the floor, waiting for Mello to return. When he didn't, I began to worry.

After ten more minutes, I went in after him, only to realize a little too late that there was nowhere to go but straight down.

I clamped my hand firmly over my mouth just as Mel had done before, willing myself to not scream. At first, the floor did shoot down terrifyingly like a bottomless pit designed to capture unsuspecting intruders, but it gradually sloped so I came to a gentle stop at an amazing sight.

The ceiling had risen to well over twenty feet. There lay enough to put a small country through a nuclear holocaust two times over. Bins lined the walls, fitted into carved slots in the naturally formed rock. Each one was labeled neatly in black pen, from what I could make out in the dimness.

I'm certain that if I had let out a cry of amazement, it would have echoed.

Small pinpricks of sunlight dotted the stone. Other than that, there was no source of lighting. And as I ventured further in, it only grew darker.

I stumbled through, wondering if noise I made would be able to reach our pursuers above. My hands guided me through the rows, searching for warmth- Mello.

Something behind me crashed.

"Ah! Matt?!"

"Mello? Where are you? What's taking you so long? And why is there so much stuff here?"

"Oh, I was trying to find the laptop... and as for the second question, I don't think I can answer without embarrassing myself."

"Laptop?"

"Yeah. I found the radio, too, but I don't even know why we have one. Obviously there won't be any signals."

His voice cracked. I frowned at the unfamiliar sound.

"And the laptop has the internet?"

"Yeah. Built in. Hey, can you give me a boost? I think the bandages are here."

"Bandages? Oh, shit-"

"I'm fine. Just some scrapes."

"...I get the feeling your idea of "scrapes" is different from mine. Let me see."

"Not now. We can't stay here for too long; the ventilation sucks."

"Alright. On the count of three-"

I lifted him onto my shoulders and felt something warm and sticky ooze through my shirt.

I choked on my breath.

"Got it. Down, please."

I let him off and then immediately touched his shoulder. He gasped in shock and pain, and I pulled back a bloodied hand.

"Matt-"

"Do you have antiseptic?" I interrupted.

"Y-yes."

"How do we get back up?"

Even in the darkness, I could make out his eyelids shutting. "You should know, you were the one who designed the place."

"Ah?"

He smiled. "You had the craziest ideas, but I loved this one the most. You had it in your trashcan, along with a bunch of other designs, the first day of my job. It was dated for seven years ago, at the time, so you completed the blueprint when you were nine."

"I- I think I remember that. I think I remember. So the way up is... the elevator?"

"Yes. Same as the way down."

"Really. Huh."

We navigated through quickly and ascended even faster. The elevator was just as I dimly remembered.

"I have to wonder how you powered this place."

"Some tough batteries. Really, the only thing that needs energy is this elevator and the lights from before."

"How long are we going to stay here?"

"Just for the night, probably. I've booked a flight to L's place."

The door opened, and we dropped to our knees to exit.

"Where is he?"

"I imagine he's in Japan."

"Really? Does he have family there, or something?"

"He actually has a friend there to help him."

"Cool."

"Yeah."

"Hand me the antiseptic and bandages."

"Here. Look, don't worry too much. I've had worse."

"Right. But you know, I would be dead now if it weren't for you, so it doesn't seem quite right that you should be dead because of me."

He lowered his gaze, smiling. "It comes with being a bodyguard, you know. Be ready to take a bullet in the back... although, in this case, it was an antique steak knife to the shoulder."

"...they were having dinner?"

"Helped themselves to my stuff. Ate with priceless family heirlooms, the bastards."

I finished bandaging and patted him on the opposite shoulder. "There, done. You should have told me earlier."

"You wouldn't have been able to do anything," he tossed out casually, holding his injured shoulder stiffly.

"You and your stupid pride," I muttered, shutting the first aid kit.


	13. Chapter 13

The next morning, we snuck out of the woods, boarded a plane to Japan, and took the subway down to God-knows-where. My Japanese seemed to be lacking.

And anyway, all I had to do was wait for Mello to announce, "Matt, we're here."

"Matt, we're here."

I blinked and glanced out the window. "What? I was expecting more of a huge skyscraper in the city."

He smiled. "Oh, no. We're stopping for some coffee. C'mon."

"Coffee? But- hey!"

I followed him to a small bakery labeled with something like "Heaven's Oven". Squinting at the neon pink sign didn't make Mello's choice make any more sense.

"Uhm. Mel. What the heck?"

"This place is amazing," he promised, gripping my arm tightly. "Trust me. It has the greatest stuff. Ryuuzaki!"

The dark-haired man looked up from what appeared to be a heated debate with the brunette sitting across from him and set down his drink.

"Ah, Mello-kun. Slightly tardy. You have run into difficulties, correct?" he inquired. I saw now that he was crouched in his seat, with both knees drawn in toward his chest.

"Yes. You know something about it, don't you?"

I instantly shifted my head to the cashier, who was watching us with a grandfatherly smile. Wordlessly, he strode to the door and flipped the sign to "CLOSED".

There was the slightest pressure at my arm. "Do not worry, Matt-kun. Watari is my trusted helper. Matt-kun may speak freely now."

"Hm? Oh, okay. I'm guessing one of you two is L?"

The brunette snorted and muttered under his breath, "Do I really look like an eccentric, insomnia-ridden, unsociable, hunchbacked travesty of a man?"

"_I fear imagining Light-kun as so is beyond my "limited mental capacities"_," he murmured, sipping placidly at his tea.

"_Limited__ mental capacities? I wonder if you have a brain at all, since you can't even see it was obviously her boyfriend who murdered them-_"

"How rude, Light-kun. Speaking Japanese in front of our American guests. And deviating from the matter at hand."

One quick peek at Mello's face told me this was a regular occurrence.

"Ah, really, it's okay," I said quickly, taking another worried look at his stony expression. "_I can understand spoken Japanese alright, so if you're more comfortable speaking in Japanese, I can keep up_."

"No, it's fine," interjected Light. "I can speak English perfectly well."

"Okay, great, we know each other's names. Now, how the hell do I dig Matt out of his grave?"

I winced at his sharp demand, but L didn't seem offended.

"Perhaps I should show Mello-kun the recent news surrounding this affair. I assume he has not been accessing the newspaper regularly?"

"We've been on the run for all these days; how could we read the Times?"

He smiled. "Of course. Watari, if you would...?"

The elderly man had already disappeared into the back room. Before long, he returned with a slim black laptop.

L set it down on the table and opened it, then pulled open a few files. He swiveled the screen toward us.

_NYPD Office Attacked!_ proclaimed the heading. Below, a witness described "a mob of people of all races, statuses in society, and cleanliness, all with apparently one goal: to destroy the building and the high-ranking officials within..."

I paled as L brought up another document- one titled _Three Detective Agencies Targeted_. Before I could read it, he whipped out another and another, labeled _Major Crime Fighting Organizations Toppled _and_ Crime Rate Decreases Dramatically. _

"What the hell..." mumbled Mello, scanning the articles.

He then chose what was apparently a front-page story. _New Facet Murders: One Possible Survivor_.

Before I could even react, Light and Mello had both clamped down the computer screen firmly.

"L... what the fuck?" they both said simultaneously, glaring.

He ignored them and turned to me instead. "Matt-kun should exercise extreme caution. Also... he should be aware of a few things."

"What?"

"I believe Matt-kun still would have lived even if he had not chosen to depart from New York."

"What!? Why!?"

He shrugged. "I have theories, but I am not sure yet. Do be careful. I'm rather fond of you."

L then patted me on the head. Vaguely, I remembered Light mentioning the word "eccentric". I opened my mouth to thank him for caring about my wellbeing for whatever reason he had, but then caught a glimpse of Mello's eyes.

The cafe was plunged into a stifling silence as I immediately shut my mouth. Finally, Light coughed and suggested, "Hey, why don't you guys have something to eat? Watari keeps some healthy stuff in the back just in case. I'll just go grab some!"

"I think I'll help you," I declared quickly, jumping up to assist him.

Through the door I could hear some yelling. I turned to Light for guidance, but he reassured, "Don't worry. Mello won't do anything serious. He's just kinda mad because... um... well, don't worry about either of them. L's trained in capoeira and Mello has a mean hook, plus it's virtually impossible to get anything through their heads anyway."

"...alright, then."

"It's okay if you don't understand."

"Ah..."

"Just know that we're all looking out for you."

"Why? Just... why?"

He smiled. "We all have our reasons. I don't think it's my right to reveal L's or Mello's, but I got into it because you're so obviously not guilty here. My soul starts to itch like crazy when someone who's so obviously innocent is blamed."

"Soul, huh?"

"Yep. And the fact that you're beautifully normal helps."

"Thanks?"

We returned to the table laden down with fresh fruit, which, according to Light, was pretty much the only remotely nutritious food L would consume.

The sight that greeted us was not particularly charming. On one side of the table, L was contenting himself with Earl Grey, his features completely blank. On the other, Mello sat stiffly, giving off a frightening aura.

Laughing weakly, I said, "Mel, I hope you still like chocolate."

He straightened instantaneously and said, "You remembered?"

"Of course. This explains the wrappers that mysteriously appeared in my room, right?"

He grinned and made space for me to sit beside him. "I still have a stash hidden in there, and you never found it."

I mentally sighed in relief as the menacing atmosphere slowly dissipated.

"Strawberry?" offered L, pinching the stem of one between his index finger and thumb.

"Sure, thanks," I accepted cheerfully.

The inexplicable aura suddenly returned. Light and I both blanched simultaneously, while L looked both highly amused and expressionless, if that was even possible.

"Hey, Matt," said Mello, peeling away the golden foil on his chocolate bar. "Want some?"

"U-uh, okay," I stuttered, extending my arm. Instead of handing it to me, though, he pressed it between my lips.

I flicked my gaze to the audience. Light's mouth was half-open, and L's face was still perfectly still.

I considered a gentle protest, but the murderous look in my guard's eyes dissuaded me. My mouth opened cautiously; I took a small bite, then retreated a comfortable three inches.

Mello seemed to twitch for a moment, so I uttered hurriedly, "Mmm. Yum. Thanks, Mel. Good stuff."

The room was quiet except for the sounds of Watari baking. Finally, L said in an even monotone, "Mello-kun, you are aware that I was not serious."

"Of course you weren't. You have Light."

"Whoa, wait a minute-" said the aforementioned man, whose color seemed off.

"Hm, but look at Mello-kun's reaction. I am trying to dissuade Mello-kun for his own benefit."

"Your dissuading is unwelcome and not working."

"Then I will reiterate once more and allow Mello-kun to decide for himself. If Mello-kun chooses to continue the path he has thus far taken, not only will he be tormenting himself, he will also be putting his life in great danger by allowing his emotions to cloud his judgment." He paused and added, "It seems Mello-kun has forgotten a good deal of his training."

His student gritted his teeth. "I haven't forgotten anything."

"It will only hurt Mello-kun if he attempts this goal. His chances of success are slim at this point."

"L," said Light, "what is the purpose of having a goal?"

"To be motivated to continue living. Now, can someone tell me what you guys are arguing about?!" I interrupted.

The conversation died abruptly with my exclamation. I sank into my chair, exasperated and confused and worried.

Mello began to speak in a strangely sad voice. "Right, the reason for goals is to have motivation. That's it, I guess."

Wordlessly, he got up and walked away.

"Ah, Mel-" I started to say, but Light touched my forearm.

"Let him go. He'll be okay."

"What? No, he won't! What are you guys talking about, anyway?"

"I believe Mello-kun would appreciate our silence. You will have to learn from him."

I spun around and took off after him.

"Matt! No! Don't leave the shop; there are probably people tailing you!"

"Mello-kun will be fine! Matt-kun, however, will not be!"

They scrambled after me, but I ignored them and tossed open the door.

"Mello!" I yelled, startling a few passerby. He wasn't nearby.

A head of yellow hair stuck out in the crowd of mostly black.

"Mello! Please, wait!"

I weaved through the crowd desperately. All the while, he seemed oblivious to my calling.

"Mello! What the hell? Do I need to yell louder?" I gasped, clutching his shoulder firmly.

The woman turned around to stare at me, before gasping herself and grabbing my wrist.

"Wha- sorry, I- ow!"

"Jack! Oh my god, the kid just ran into me and tugged on my fucking sleeve! Get him, quick!"

The overgrown man beside her had my wrists in one of his meaty hands before I could get a foot away. I cursed the heavy traffic and struggled futilely.

"I'm sorry; I mistook her for another person! Please, let me go!"

"Hell, no. Kid, you're gonna make us rich. The boss wants you for his girlfriend."

"What?! What are you talking about?! Let me go!"

"C'mon, Jackie. The quicker we get there, the more we get paid."

"Here's to that!" enthused the bodybuilder, hefting me over one shoulder.

Kidnapped the minute Mel left me, of course. I still laugh when I remember; now that I think about it, it's a miracle I'm still living in his absence.


	14. Chapter 14

I was then manhandled all the way to Brazil, though at the time I hadn't had the slightest idea where Dolly and Jackie had shipped me off to. When the drugs wore off, I was not in the dim, dingy cell my imagination had conjured for me. Instead, I was surrounded by velvety afghans, plush pillows, and hand-knitted blankets in a soft bed.

Nor was I manacled to a crumbling, bloodstained heap of bricks. My limbs were free and the walls were painted a tasteful shade of yellow.

Yellow. Mello.

Though I didn't get to experience the rest of the joys of being kidnapped and drugged, I did manage to reel in shock at memories suddenly flooding back to me. Mello..? Where was he?

I blinked. Really, I should have been considering my own surroundings.

I rubbed my eyes and cast away the comforters heaped on top of me. Sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains and warmed the marble floor, where a pair of slippers was waiting patiently for me.

Cautiously, I pushed open the heavy wooden door and ventured into the empty corridor.

Maybe this was L's place, I thought. I stumbled around until I discovered a stairway, then descended to the floor below.

Crystal dripped from so many chandeliers it was a miracle of architecture that the ceiling wasn't sagging. In fact, it arched and curved, elegantly embodying wealth and refinement. This appeared to be the lobby.

I discovered the grand front entrance and immediately ran to it, slightly stunned that I had managed to navigate the foreign building. I tugged it open eagerly and stepped outside, only to stop.

Water gushed, roared, and cascaded. About a hundred feet away, a magnificent waterfall dwelled.

In one direction, there stretched a rickety-looking bridge that seemed the type to disintegrate when an unlucky crosser happens to be tying his shoe in the middle. In the other, there was a stretch of land about a hundred feet thick. So this was a strip of land.

This mansion was located on a waterfall. Brilliant.

Before I could decide which route to take, a finger tapped my shoulderblade. I flinched violently and jerked around.

"Don't even think about exploring in your slippers," muttered the tall, gaunt man. He was maybe a foot and half taller than I was, and wore his long black hair in loose ponytail.

"E-excuse me?"

"Don't run around in the mud in pink bunny slippers."

Carefully, I looked him in the eye. "These are definitely not pink bunny slippers."

"Well done. Still, go put on sneakers."

His request seemed reasonable enough, so I shrugged and said, "Okay."

He was silent as I turned around, so I assumed that was all he needed. But suddenly, I found myself gripped by the shoulders a little too firmly.

"Did you say "okay"?"

"Uhh... yes?" I answered, bewildered.

"It's been years! I just try to look out for people, but none of these rich bastards give a damn! Even Naomi won't listen to me anymore! Her own brother! And all I tell her to do is sleep more, eat more, and she just ignores me! I bet-"

"Excuse me, but could you let me go..?"

He frowned and scrutinized me, leaning far too close for comfort. Finally, he pulled back and asked in a clipped, professional tone, "How old are you?"

"I-is there a wrong answer?"

He considered my question for a moment before answering, "An age that you aren't."

"Okay. I'm twenty years, three months, and nine days old. That good?" I answered, trying to appease the stern-looking man.

"The hour?"

"Um, I'm not certain what hour I was born."

"Really?" He seemed fascinated.

"Yeah."

"Doesn't it drive you crazy not knowing?"

"Not particularly," I admitted.

"Hm. You are a strange person. But nice."

"Well, you seem nice too," I returned uncreatively. It was true, though, as he hadn't yet cuffed or drugged me.

He seemed to enjoy the praise.

"By the way, what's your name?" I asked.

"Please call me Kettle. You shouldn't run away. That path just leads to a cliff, and the bridge is for decoration and will not withstand your weight."

"Ehh?! But you... I thought you thought I was just "going exploring"!"

"Of course I didn't. But I didn't care for you much, since all Naomi ever talks about is you, Matt. And she ignores her only sibling."

"I'm sure she loves you," I said uneasily, wondering what their family was like.

"Sure. She has reasons not to, though. But now I get why she wants you in our family so bad."

"Wait, what?"

"Naomi wants you to be her son, so I guess I get to be your uncle. But I don't want to be your uncle. I'd rather be your friend."

"You can be my friend and uncle- ah, wait, that came out wrong. I mean, why does she want me to be her son?"

"She's infertile from a piece of shrapnel that hit her, but that's not the only reason. Maybe you'll get to meet her today."

"Really, what's she like?"

He frowned and pointed to my dirt-caked slippers. "Please come inside with me."

I followed him obediently back into the manor. If he was telling the truth, there was no way for me to escape from this place on my own. Befriending Kettle was all I could do for now.

"Here, Matt," he murmured, offering a pair of new boots similar to the ones I had worn before.

"Wow, they're identical to the ones I had," I remarked, buckling them on.

"Naomi has a closet of stuff for you," he responded. "She knows what you wear."

I groaned inwardly. Exactly how many stalkers had I garnered?

"R-right. So, what's Ms. Naomi like?"

"Do you know about the attacks on the detective agencies?"

"Yes," I said, recalling the headlines and newspaper articles.

"She's friends with the man behind them. He owns this house."

"That's interesting," I managed. "Did you know that my family was murdered by him?"

"Of course. But here's the special part- Naomi doesn't know that Jose is the boss!"

"Oh, god," I moaned. "So?"

"Jose likes Naomi."

"Likes?"

"He tells his underlings that they're dating. It's really funny."

I stared blankly.

"Naomi doesn't know about that, either. She doesn't know a lot of stuff about him. See, she's the founder and head of an organization called Just Justice. Heard of it?"

"Yeah... they used to come into my dad's building to complain."

"Naomi thinks detective and law enforcement agencies need some cleaning up and training, because of an incident that happened with her late husband. So she sends around her personally trained officers to major places."

"Oh, well, that sounds perfectly good and legal." We turned around an unfamiliar corner.

"Oh, but Jose isn't. He's the head of a big mafia group."

"...splendid. How does this fit into our sordid tale?"

"He gives addicts off the streets drugs so they go and force change on these agencies. That was at first. Then he learned that Naomi wanted you as her kid, so he sent a couple to hunt you down, figuring you three could make a nice family."

"Why does Ms. Naomi want me specifically?"

"It has to do with the incident with her husband and your past. She sympathizes. And she thinks you're smart."

"One more question. Why haven't you told your sister?"

He shrugged. "She hasn't asked."

I mentally connected my palm with my forehead and muttered, "Okay, then. So when I meet her, you have no objections to me spilling to her, right?"

"Don't. Jose would murder you."

"What does he look like? Just so I can be careful around him."

"He's about this tall-" Kettle gestured with his hands, "is prematurely balding, has a black beard, tan skin, and usually wears a white suit with a purple shirt underneath and a gold tie, or some other color combination that's equally revolting."

"Thanks. I think I'm going to sleep, now."

He nodded. "I'll be five doors down, if you need me."

I crept under the covers, shut my eyes for five minutes, then quickly stuffed a few of the numerous pillows under to give the basic impression of a person huddled underneath. Silently, I bounded toward the phone I had seen as Kettle and I walked by.


	15. Chapter 15

I lifted the phone, nearly dropping it in my haste, and punched in Deston's number.

Each ring was like a stab in the chest. I must have checked over my shoulder at least four times.

"Y'ello?"

"Deston! It's me, Matt!"

"Ginger! Long time no see, eh?"

"Listen! I've been kidnapped! I have no idea where I am, but you need to find Mello- er, my friend that was with me in the cab- and tell him this!"

"Alright," he answered gravely. The sudden change in tone frightened me.

"Here's all I can say: it's some mansion with a waterfall right next to it. It belongs to a guy named Jose, who leads a major group of the mafia, and there's a lady named Naomi living here as well. I'm pretty certain it's in a different continent."

"Where do I go to find your friend?"

"I hate to ask this of you, but-"

"Ask. I owe you my life, remember?"

"Okay. Go to Tokyo, Japan, the largest airport, and take the subway closest for... eleven stations. Get off, and walk two blocks down, to a bakery with a pink sign on the front. Go inside, and there should be an elderly man as the cashier. Tell him that you're my friend and I'm doing okay. Then relay all the stuff I told you earlier."

"Is that all?"

"Yes." Suddenly, I remembered Mello's guilty expression as he blamed himself for the poisoning scare I had. "Please hurry. They're probably worried."

"Are you safe?"

"Yeah. I have to go, or else they'll catch me... don't call back. This isn't my phone. And my cell is gone, too."

"I'll be as quick as possible. Stay safe, Ginger."

I hung up and hurried back to my room, ducking under the covers just as a maid walked by. And as much as it embarrasses me to say, I fell asleep very easily.

-

"Matt? It is time for dinner."

There was the voice, needling again. Tiredly, I muttered, "Mello, go away."

It stopped, if only for a few minutes. Then, gently, Kettle whispered, "Who is Mello, Matt?"

Dumping a pail of water on my head couldn't have been more effective.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot-"

"Who is Mello?"

Kettle stared at me unnervingly. I gulped and answered noncommittally, "A friend. A good friend."

"Is Mello a he or a she?"

"Er... he."

"Is Mello a really good friend?"

"Um, yeah."

"_Really_ good?" he emphasized. It finally got through my thick skull what he meant.

"Nooot that way," I assured hurriedly, wondering where he was going with all of these questions.

"Oh. Friends can fall in love very easily, though, since their personalities are usually suited for each other."

My confusion must have shown on my face, because he added, "That may be why Mello wants to be your friend."

Silence fell between us before I asked timidly, "You're kidding, right?"

He shrugged and smiled. "It's not funny if I explain, hm? How did you meet Mello?"

I decided to ignore the first conversation entirely and explained, "Well, the thing is, he's also my bodyguard, who I didn't know I had until recently."

"Interesting. You see him as more of a friend than hired defense, though."

"Yeah. I guess the way he saves me all the time doesn't exactly lower my opinion of him, though. And we treat each other more like friends."

"Hm. So should I be your new guard?"

I froze. "I still have Mello, don't I? He's still..."

"I don't know whether he is alive or not. But if he let Jose's workers kidnap you, he must be either dead or incompetent."

"Mello isn't incompetent," I said heatedly. "He wasn't exactly himself when I was taken, which I totally blame on bad luck."

Kettle smiled and said, "Then I'll be a new addition?"

I failed to find a reason to reject him and acquiesced reluctantly.

"Don't be hesitant. I am a very strong fighter." He bent down and retrieved a tray of food that admittedly looked appetizing.

Except, it was open-air, unpackaged, prepared by foreign hands.

"Thanks for coming, but I'd rather not eat," I declined politely.

"Why not?"

"I feel slightly nauseated," I lied, settling back against the mountain of cushions behind me.

"That's a very reasonable excuse. Why don't you want to eat?"

"Ehh... not hungry. Allergic to... fish."

"I can feed you, if you'd like."

"Uh, that won't be necessary."

"I can feed you, if you continue to refuse food."

"I'm not eating," I stated firmly, clamping my mouth shut for emphasis.

Our eyes and wills warred with each other until Kettle warned, "I will pinch your nose shut if you do not tell me why you will not eat."

"I like to prepare my own food."

"Then come with me," he answered, and stood up.

"To where?" I asked, kicking blankets away.

"The kitchen, of course."

Their was an incomprehensibly large kitchen to match the rest of the fantastic mansion. Professional-looking cooks bustled in and out with pots and pans and delicate dishes.

"Jose is having a party tonight," Kettle murmured in explanation, ducking under the arm of a rushing waiter ferrying three dishes of buttered lobster. I watched in awe at the masterful cooking.

"I don't think I'll be able to make anything without feeling ashamed of my lack of skill," I confessed, observing a pastry chef ice an elaborate cake.

He perked up. "So you'll eat the dish I brought you?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I... I don't eat anything unpackaged."

Understanding seeped into expression. "Ah, why didn't you say so? I have some food in my room; would you like to come with me?"

We exited and walked to his room, which was very similar in design to mine. His looked as though a person actually lived in it, though.

I sat at the foot of his bed(which was heaped with fewer pillows) and watched the darkening sky shade the petals of the roses outside.

"Here. Drink this, first."

In his curled hand he fisted a Coke.

I couldn't help but let out a few amused, slightly bitter chuckles.

"Do you dislike cola? I have water and juice as well."

"Oh, no! I love Coke, it's just... nothing. Just sort of funny."

A week ago, I had been in my room, drinking Coke, programming. Days ago, I had been in a motel inhabited by more rats than humans, with my greatest ally and Coke. And just then, I stared down what was apparently the only constant in my life.

I popped up the tab and sipped while Kettle eviscerated his refrigerator and attempted to create a meal out of microwaveable macaroni and cheese and a package of sliced apples.

"Here. About half as nutritious as the other dinner, but better than eating nothing at all."

I ate obediently and teased, "Send my compliments to the chef."

He hugged me. I nearly dropped a forkful of gooey pasta.

"Er... Kettle?"

"Thank you," he mumbled into my sleeve.

I coughed and finally accepted the fact that the only way to dispel the extremely awkward, extremely sad air was to hug back.

He sighed. "You make a good younger brother. I wish Naomi would remember she had one."

I would definitely remind her, I promised myself, if only for the sake of avoiding more uncomfortable embracing.


End file.
